


The High Road is Hard to Find

by orphan_account



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Backstory, Character Death, M/M, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno encounters a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High Road is Hard to Find

**Author's Note:**

> Moved from a tumblr on which I am no longer active. Some slight edits have been made during the move, for clarity and consistency.
> 
> It is an unfortunate oversight on my part that the Johny in this story shares a name and profession with Johnny of the actual game. They are not remotely intended to be the same character.
> 
> Content Warnings: Violence, Character death, alcohol use, mentions of human trafficking, and mentions of suicidal ideation.

He’d been on stakeout for 12 hours, not even in a car, just himself lurking in doorways and corners, wrapped up in an old scarf and older gloves. The bar with the bright blue chocobo above it isn’t one he’s ever taken noticed of before, but right then it seems like as good a place as any to duck in for a break from the biting cold, and the inches of ice that grow over the pipes and the greyish blobs of snow that fall through gaps in the upper plate. Even inside, as he throws himself down into a seat at the bar that may, or may not, still be in use his breath comes out in gusts of steam, but at least there’s the warmth of bodies packed in close. He gestures to get the bartenders attention, slaps a few notes down on the table, still too focused on turning the days information over in his head to really look at anything.

"I’ll have whatever’s got the most fuck you in it for the least money."

The money disappears into a rough, broad hand and something clear, neat, and deadly smelling appears in its place

"Last I heard you were part of Vizzini’s gang over in Five. Figured whoever took them down took you with ‘em. Shit, Red, how many years has it been?" Reno nearly chokes on his drink, recognizing the voice immediately, but struggling to place it until he looks up into a familiar face. A bit older now, dark hair cropped shorter, but otherwise no different. If the bartender is the slightest bit annoyed at being ignored, or the slightest bit surprised to see him, it doesn’t show. Same Johny Ito then, unfazed as ever. Reno wonders briefly, while he struggles to save face by finishing the rest of his drink in a halfway dignified manner, if he can still stare down a wandering fang, like they had to do sometimes as teenagers.

"Well, don’t look like I’m the only one who cleaned up. You ain’t still runnin’ bootleg when you got a place like this, yo." Smiling broadly.

"What makes you think it’s mine?"

"Damn blue chocobo’s were always your favorite when we found something to watch the races on."

"You remember that huh?"

"Since when do I forget anythin'? How the hell have you been?"

The catching up is shockingly easy, and completely natural in a way he doesn’t feel with anyone except his partner. Reno still talks, and Johny still doesn’t say much, leastways not with his words. He’s the kind of person who’s expressive in a way that he could never say another word for the rest of his life, and you’d still know exactly what he was thinking just by watching him. When the bar closes, and Reno really will catch hell if he’s any later to report than he is already, Johny tells him to come back if he ever needs a free drink.

He picks up a few more solo jobs. Just small things. Meet with this informant. The Don and a few other players who think they’re big are late on their ‘appreciation donations’, time for a reminder. Check up on Aerith, she’s seemed a bit lonely lately. All things he’d do anyway, if asked directly. But they give him an excuse to visit.

Of course, these jobs don’t always line up with the bars hours, or the shifts that Johny works, so sometimes ‘a free drink’ turns into ‘a free drink somewhere else’ or ‘maybe some takeout’ or ‘my artist buddy fixed up a movie projector and she’s showing something or other in the old Macon building tomorrow, wanna come with?’

And one night another cheap, cold art flick in a skeezy, freezing lot turns into aimless walking, turns into steaming cups of midnight coffee that neither of them even want, but work as an excuse. And when Johny pushes his face against Reno’s and takes his hands against the cold, Reno follows him upstairs simply because he wants too. It doesn’t occur to him for weeks that that in itself is a first.

Reno’s never actually _dated_ anyone before. Fucked around some sure, but that’s always been for work as much as anything.

He grows more diligent about washing his hands and his clothes. He’s careful to never show up smelling like blood, careful to keep hold of his own tongue when he’s away.

\----

"You’re a fucking Turk!?"

"You’re a fucking snitch!?" The words tear out of both of them at almost the same time, as Reno rounds a corner, and they both realize precisely what they’re looking at. It’s Reno who gets his bearings first, unfreezing, and pulling Johny into a walk beside him. "Nevermind, you know the time constraints here, what have you got?"

"Where’s Freya?"

"Got the flu or something." He answers honestly, voice even, though his heart is racing. Does Johny have any fucking idea how dangerous dealing information on Hyong’s group is? Especially now Korrick’s acting up; not all birds sing their song for ShinRa only. He shakes his head. Of course Johny knows. That’s one aspect of life in the slums that remains constant. "Now you give me your report and get the fuck out of here before somebody fucking see’s you."

"Okay, they’re not just moving tech. Got a side deal with the Don, bringing him kids in exchange for materia. Looks like they’re gonna move within the next month. Next scheduled delivery is Wednesday, far side of the wall." Reno nods, then his eyebrows knit.

"Good work but…the Don don’t deal in kids. He’s gotta be moving them for someone else then."

"I know. Going to take me a bit to find out who."

"Is not. You can fuck around with Hyong's Revival bullshit, but not the Don. He’s got too many protections."

"You got anyone else willing to talk there, buddy? ‘cause I’d sure like to know about it." Johny’s right. They don’t have anyone else right now. Besides, he hasn’t been working this case, but he’s been following it the last few months. Nothing they’ve been given so far has turned up wrong. If they can bust Revival and a trafficking op, they’re going to do it.

"Alright. Shit. Fine. Just be fucking careful, yo.” 

\----

It’s morning, Spring, early still, but it’s not like that hardly makes a difference under the plate. Johny’s apartment isn’t anywhere near the gaps and cracks that sometimes let light through, so the only way to tell is the clock flashing six forty five on the nightstand. At seven it will start beeping. Reno thinks about unplugging it before then. Just this once.

Reno’s been awake since five thirty, but he hasn’t bothered to put clothes on. The room is warm enough. Purple light from a sign he can’t read streams through the window, and he’s happy enough to just lean out into it with a smoke and watch the small morning movements of the city. He can’t stifle the goofy grin that breaks over his face when the bed creaks and sheets ruffle behind him. He turns to watch Johny stretch out, rumpled and sleepy-eyed still. The bartender tries so hard to be a morning person: wake up early, work out, make coffee, but he’s absolutely terrible at it.

"Kinda early for a cigarette. You taking off?"

"Look like I’m takin’ off, yo?"

"Dunno. Can’t ever tell with you. If you’re staying then get back over here."

"Soon as I do you’ll be the one gettin’ up." It comes out more hopeful than it should be, he but decides immediately that he doesn’t care.

"I’ve got a snooze button, and I’m not afraid to use it." So Reno stubs out the cigarette on the sill, and flicks the butt out into the ally. He isn’t usually much for beds but…this one is good. He lets himself be pulled down, and wrapped up in a tangle of arms and legs and sheets, and not-yet-ready-to-be-awake grumblings, and fingers threaded soothingly through his hair. Can’t settle himself though. Too much on his mind. Nothing bad, it’s just that once he’s awake his brain is loud.

"Come upside with me."

"What? Don’t like your roots showing?"

"Fuck no, yo. Ain’t that at all. S’just. People drink up there too, all real nice places. Pays better. Ain’t as likely to get mugged or anythin'."

"Hmm."

"I know a bar that’s lookin’…"

"Don’t think so Red. Sweet of you, but you know I got stuff to do down here."

"I know but-" The hand in his hair goes hard, tilts his head back gently, just enough that he can’t really move.

"You talk a lot prettier now, you know that? Still talk too much though." Johny brings their faces close together, with that obnoxious, patient smile, and bumps his forehead against the Turks affectionately, and he knows Reno wants to be kissed, because anymore Reno always wants Johny to kiss him. But he doesn’t close the distance, and he doesn’t let him move.

\----

Lighting and the smell of charred flesh cut the air and one body hits the pavement. A second arc of electricity, another cut off scream, followed by a dull thud. He has no time for them, now they’re out of the way.

He has the right place right? Can’t be far now. Not when he’d had a handful of hired muscle blocking his path already. He replays the message in his head, just to be sure.

_"Hyong knows. Dunno how but he does. They know you’re coming on the 20th, got guns lined up. Real thing is happening on the 1st instead. Knows about me too. Know about me too. Got some followers. I’m on 24th and High-line, headed west. Fuck. Reno I need help."_

He finds him down a side street, less than a block away. Looks like Hyong's men had run past, just like he had. Lucky Johny hadn’t lost his smugglers instincts, had found a place out of the light, and off the main road. One of his eyes is black, and he’d been running with a gash in his arm. Not deep, but enough that a trained eye could follow the spatters.

He’s shaking like he’s never been in real trouble before. It takes a Reno a minute to remember that he hasn’t; had always been one of the lucky kids, never had a gig go south, never had a client get cheap. Didn’t hardly have a scar on him.

"Okay. Okay. It’s cool, yo. I’m gonna fix this." He wraps his arms around Johny’s neck, and activates his Restore materia, cold blue light hissing over them. "I’m gonna fix this."

\----

Two weeks and thousands of miles later, Reno learns something about fixes.

They’ve made it as far as the tertiary safe-house in Costa by the time Reno’s phone rings, with the last ringtone he wants to hear. They’re so close. On more checkpoint, and he hands Johny off to the local branch of General Affairs support, on to a new name and a new life.

"Bust. Korrick made his move, three troopers dead, and the leader escaped. Your rat was the only one we had on that case." The line clicks off. He knows the unspoken order there. Protected informants are birds. Only dead ones are rats.

"Fuck!" Reno slams his fist into the wall; somewhere his brain is telling him he’s broken his hand doing it. A throb and crack in the bones that shouldn’t be. He’s not sure if he can actually feel it. Doesn’t care either way. Lets his head fall forward against the cold and smooth of the wall, and stay there.

He wonders, just for a couple of seconds, if Johny knows how much cock he had to suck, and how many favors he had to call in early, to get the okay for a relocation, rather than a hit. Wonders if Johny knows about the look-a-like cage fighter in under 3 who had to take the fall for him.

Fucking waste.

He hears movement behind him, weight shifting on the couch, a body getting ready to run. He waves a hand back, conciliatory, and the only other body in the room settles. “Stop. Just…don’t fuckin' move, yo.” He reaches for his gun, casually, like he isn’t doing it all. Stalling, but he has to be sure. “You talk to anyone before we left?”

"…Yeah…"

"You talk to Korrick?"

"I had to make sure someone -"

"Korrick is a fucking dirty, and now three ShinRa men are dead. I told you not to fuckin' talk to anyone.” This wasn’t the bartenders fault, not really. He wasn’t a traitor. He’d panicked, and he’d said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Fucking typical civilian cock-up. Not that that changed anything. “Johny, I can’t fix that.”

"I was trying to help." It comes out on a sharp breath, frightened.

"I know." More shuffling movement, stilled with a warning click of the safety. There’s a procedure for situations like this. Public Safety will want someone to question. A face to display. An example to make. At least he can still make it-

He's fucked up, and his hesitation costs them both. Johny bolts for the door, and they both know it’s coming, so when Reno catches him, and they hit the floor in a bruising tangle, Johny doesn’t struggle as much as he should. And that flashes bright and ragged for an instant, because he shouldn’t be struggling at all, shouldn’t have had time to be afraid.

It’s barely fifteen seconds between the first flurry of motion, and Reno, bent over a body with a smoking gun, and blood spatter hot on his skin.

He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to dispose of the corpse, doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to do anything but sit here while the blood on his face goes cold and the gun starts to shake in his hand. But as soon as the thought appears it vanishes behind the methodical pull of stripping evidence and identity, his body moving on it’s own until his brain engages again.

Fingerprints have to go, cards, the ID chip in the left bicep. Wrap the body. The floor is hard, wood, soap and water will mostly take care of the blood. Bleach will take care of the rest, will cover the smell of gunpowder, cigarettes and open windows will mostly cover the bleach.

The body is heavy. Bigger than him. He has to find somewhere close by to dump it. The reactor. It’s not far, and he can stay out of sight on the way.

After, he fits himself into a space between support beams, pressed up tight against the rail, where the mako smell stings acidic, and the light reaches. He doesn’t think about what metal and gun oil might taste like. He waits for the call, and when it comes, he picks up on the first ring.

"Mission status?"

"Target resisted arrest. Killed in resulting struggle. Body disposed of." There’s a sound on the line that might be a hard intake of breath, only Reno knows better, then a pause.

"Reno…"

"Just fucking get me home bossman." He snarls into the phone, because his voice isn’t cracking.

"Transport’s on it’s way."

**Author's Note:**

> Songs you can blame for this nonsense:
> 
> The High Road - Broken Bells  
> David - Noah Gundersen


End file.
